


Dear Fellow Traveler

by BasicallyAnIdiot



Series: HCS Week 2020 [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters: Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire | Pokemon Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire Versions, Pocket Monsters: Ruby & Sapphire & Emerald | Pokemon Ruby Sapphire Emerald Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Day 1, Dragon!May, F/M, HCS Week 2020, Knight!Steven, Mayflower the Dragon, SameAge!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22318783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasicallyAnIdiot/pseuds/BasicallyAnIdiot
Summary: The King's Champion came to deal with a sheep-thief and a volcano.There was absolutely no mention about the dragon.
Relationships: Haruka | May/Tsuwabuki Daigo | Steven Stone
Series: HCS Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606432
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	Dear Fellow Traveler

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 1 of Shikisai's HoennChampionShip Week 2020 on tumblr. Prompt was ~~Wild West~~ /Dragons. 
> 
> Here we go!

**Dear Fellow Traveler**

Something had been stealing the sheep of the local farms. 

Normally, such a matter would be considered too trivial for the attention of the Champion and be passed to the local authorities or another knight. But no carcasses had been found, no trails or signs of where they had been moved and the animals hadn’t turned up in the local auctions. More worrying was the reports of a shadow in the sky moving against the winds during storms. Storms which had been fiercer this year than any other. 

The village sat in the shadow of the volcano, protected from the harsh summer typhoons from the west and warmed by the morning sun. Through the valley below offered fertile land for crops renewed with each spring flood, most of the land within the village was rough, uneven stone covered in creeping wild grasses and bramble favours by sheep and goats. As long as someone got used to the idea the very ground could blow sky high at any moment, and the odd tremour, it was a beautiful place to settle. 

Steven made it through the various pleasantries with the village notables, most tripping over themselves when they recognized the sigil on his ring. The only place he permitted the silver Lion Rampant against purple to be marked- it made life easier if he could control when or if his rank was revealed. More than one bandit had paid the price for that lack of observation. 

He left his horse behind with the awe-struck village folk, sure of Aron’s well-being and treatment with such folk, as he made the trek up the mountain side. The footing on the mountain was treacherous, and although his gelding was nimble footed it would be risking a broken leg to take him further. 

Black basalt dirtied his armoured boots- typical of this type of volcano. History had it Mt. Chimney erupted every hundred years or so. If that was true, it was overdue and every rumble had to be viewed with suspicion. He had debated with scholars at the university of Rustboro how long they had before the disaster struck. They agreed it was only a matter of time before Mt. Chimney threw a tantrum, any cohesion fell apart when faced with the question of when and how badly. Thus far the grumblings in the ground were merely the groans of a slumbering giant, they had argued, otherwise, it was in the hands of the gods. 

If there were any gods they surely must be cruel ones, Steven mused, to let such a threat dangle over his people. 

This little quest would provide a much needed excuse to see the volcano up close, see if there were any hints of what Mt. Chimney had planned. Though, the quest was quickly raising the hairs on the back of his neck with each clue found- or lack thereof. There had been no signs of struggle in the fields, and the herds had adopted a curious behaviour of staying under trees. Whatever was stealing the farmers’ livelihood was probably winged. A difficult kind of opponent at the best of times. He would have to choose his battlefield carefully. 

The path up the mountain grew narrower and narrower as he climbed. Well maintained stone roads slipped away to well-trodden dirt then, eventually, tall grasses and the only indication of a path was the clear lack of shrubbery in one direction. Soon though, as the sun cleared the height of its arch and began its descent to the horizon, the plantlife faded entirely. Rocks and sand crunched beneath his boots, black and warm even through thick soles. 

It was an inhospitable place- no birds sung. No game trails could be seen. Not even the annoyance of bugs flying around his helm. It was as if all life had stopped at the line where the grasses ended. The one stream he had seen had bubbled as it poured out of the earth, stinking of fire and brimstone. 

Whatever was causing grief to the village folk, it was looking like it did not make its home on the mountain. Nothing could be hidden up here and with each scan of the landscape Steven became more and more convinced the beast was actually in the forest to the east. No sane owlgriff would be anywhere near this place and Steven knew of no other silent flyer with a taste for sheep. 

Just as the sun kissed the horizon, a cave opened on the path. Steven paused there and mused his chances of descending the mountain in the dark. Probably not a wise choice. Not only would it be risky, he would have to leave immediately to make the most of the remaining light. Missing his chance to see what was happening in the cauldron. 

It was a tough supper of jerky, bread and cheese, followed by a long night of restlessness. The ground warmed his bedroll through, and he had to strip off his shirt and armour to have a chance of sleep. Never again would he complain of the cold- no matter how much Wallace laughed at him. 

The morning dawned cloudy, and Steven readied for the day quickly. To the top, then a straight march back to the village to regroup. Sweat trickled down his face as he climbed. The heat growing more and more intense. What he would give to be able to jump into the spring cool ocean at that moment. Yes, a day at the beach. When this was all taken care of, he’d head south to Mossdeep and relax on a sandy beach. Catch up on some reading he had put off until the next emergency reared its ugly head and required his attention. 

Near the top, the sides grew steeper until he was just about crawling up the side to the lip of the cauldron, sliding on the loose sand and dirt. At the peak, lava writhed in the bowl, bubbles popping and spewing the molten rock high into the air. Active then, Steven thought with a dry mouth. Perhaps the long slumber was coming to an end. 

The ground shifted beneath his foot, and instinct had him throwing himself backwards before the ground took him into the bowl proper. He bounced against the ground, unable to stop as gravity sent him back down the way he came at speed. Sharp jabs of pain accompanied every hit of a rock.

A stone hit his head and then all he knew was darkness. 

~*~*~*~

He drifted. Warm and content. Birds sung in the background. The sparrows he recognized, the other answering song-like chirps belong to a bird he had no recollection of. 

Water. Steven was in water. Warm water, that eased the aches of his bones to the very depths of his suffering. A healing bath? Where was he? The village had no such facilities. Only a handful of major cities offered such services, and at great expense. 

It took effort to open his eyes, sore as they felt. Trees were the first thing that he could focus on. The forest? Sparrows flirted across the small clearing, gathering on a mossy rock near the edge-

The moss rock _moved_ , camouflage faded as the beast raised its head. Scales as green as emeralds shimmered storm silver, tinged the blue of an angry ocean or the colour of well-forged steel. Sparrows sat unperturbed on the crown of sharp, translucent, curving horns, others huddled on clawed paws bigger than his head, gathered under the body like a satisfied cat. A long, delicate looking maw likely hid teeth longer than his fingers.

Dragon. 

He had never seen one before. Hoenn hadn’t had dragons in centuries- long driven out by the ambitions of kings and lords who sought the horns and scales as trophies for cold castle walls. Actually seeing one, Steven couldn’t understand how anyone could kill them.

It was beautiful.

The dragon was the source of the other chirping, now adding a soft whistle to the mix. To his astonishment, the sparrows also began whistling, as if repeating what the dragon had sung. Exactly what the dragon had sung. A giddy, lightheaded feeling built in him. It was a game. They were playing a repetition game that just about mirrored the games of his own childhood. 

He shifted. A sharp pain shot up his side and a surprised gasp left him. Steven fought to keep his breathing even as the pain dulled to a slow pounding ache. Silence filled the clearing now and when he looked back, the dragon’s magic-bright sapphire eyes watched him like a hawk. The intensity stopped his breath in his throat. 

Beady black eyes of the flock of sparrows also watched him, not a feather moving between them. Like he was being inspected. 

The dragon blinked and the spell was broken. It hummed in a little tune and spoke without moving its maw. _“You shouldn’t move. You were hurt very badly.”_

Surreal. It was like the voice filled the clearing and head. Had he actually heard it, or was it merely an echo in his head? Steven blinked, and moved to sit up with care, “I should be dead.”

 _“You would have been, if I hadn’t found you.”_ The dragon whistled, its flock taking off in unison and resettling in the trees. Once the little birds were clear, dragon stood up, uncoiling. It stretched like a cat, claws flexing out in front of it and leaving tears in the moss of its bed. Great wings, tipped in claws, opened catching the sunlight on the gemlike webbing between the fingerlike bones. Uncoiled, the dragon was large enough for Aron in full armour to stand on its back twice. A single wing alone could cover a small herd of sheep. 

Stretching complete, the dragon settled down again. As one, the sparrows flew back to their resting places on the great bulk. The dragon tilted its head, _“What were you doing_ _up so high? Don’t humans know that it is dangerous at the peak?”_

He coughed, ignoring the pain, “I was investigating a recent string of thefts.” Steven paused, “Someone or something has been stealing sheep from a local village.” 

_“Ah.”_ The dragon rumbled and replied mildly, _“Do sheep-thieves often live at the peak of dangerous volcanoes, or is this one just special?”_

Steven flushed and sunk a little into the warm water, “Don’t know. I haven’t found them yet.”

The dragon snorted, disturbing the one sparrow on a nostril. _“Well, stop looking up there. That volcano is a grumpy one.”_

“What do you mean, grumpy one?”

 _“Exactly what I said._ ” A ripple of iridescence as the dragon shifted, _“It is waking up and that one is always mad. You’d be smart to get out of here and soon.”_

Dread pooled in his stomach. He thought of the towns and villages that surrounded Mt. Chimney. Thousands of lives, unaware of the danger. There was no way they could all be evacuated- and even if they could, how long? What of their homes and livelihoods? What was ‘soon’ to a dragon? “Is there nothing that can be done?”

The dragon stilled, bright eyes leveled on him with an intensity he was unaccustomed to, _“Why do you want to know?”_

“Because there are families around it, entire villages and towns, and if I can do something then I must.” He was Champion, the King’s right hand and, at times, the King’s justice. He had sworn an oath to protect the people of the realm. Not that a dragon could understand. 

_“But they chose to settle there, and continue to stay, fully aware of the potential consequences of their choice.”_

Steven gritted his teeth against such a callous thought. “The circumstances of their choices are not mine, nor yours, to judge. What matters is that they are in danger and I am honourbound to help them anyway I can.” 

Perhaps he could not save all of them, but he could save some. Steven stood up, the world spinning as he did, pain flaring everywhere, cool air cold against wet, exposed skin as his balance failed. His hand stuck out to find something to balance on, landing on a boulder. A warm, scaly boulder that slowly lowered him back into the waters. 

He blinked at the dragon as it stepped back, nostrils dripping with the spring water. It snorted, shaking its great head. _“Peace, little tempest. You are in no condition to go anywhere.”_

“But they have to be warned! If there is nothing that can be done to stop the eruption-” 

The dragon’s stare stopped him. _“I did not say that.”_

“What?”

 _“I merely asked why you wanted to know.”_ It paused, _“There are some of my people who can speak to the earth and learn its fury. While no one can truly stop an angry volcano... there are ways to direct them.”_

“I don’t suppose you happen to be one of them?”

The dragon laughed out loud, long, pointy, pearly white teeth gleaming in the sunlight. _“No. I am born of typhoons and thunderclouds, of the sea in storm and winter winds. But my brother can speak to the earth. He is born of molten rock and the sunlit earth, of the creation of lands and the arrival of spring. And he finds humans… interesting. Interesting enough that he might help save them.”_

Steven leaned against the warm rocks, “Is that a trait you share with him?”

 _“... Possibly.”_ The dragon nudged closer, blinking in curiosity. _“I have never met a human with storm clouds for hair. Do all in your line have the same colouring?”_

Self-consciously, Steven ran a hand through his damp locks. “Uh, I get it from my father’s side.” He shook his head, “Where can I find your brother?”

The dragon pulled back. _“You? You wouldn’t be able to. But I can and you can come.”_ It paused, _“Though, I must confess. I was the one who stole the sheep. I didn’t know they belonged to anyone. Sorry.”_

If only all thieves could be so repentant, Steven mused with a smile. “I think everyone will just be happy if it doesn’t happen again. Do you have a name?”

_“I told you, I am born of typhoons and thunderclouds, of the sea in storm and winter winds.”_

“Ah.” Steven hesitated. “That is a very nice name, somewhat long though.”

 _“Eh. It sounds better in my tongue.”_ The dragon sung a few low notes, chilling Steven to his bones in spite of the water- like the eerie stillness as a bad storm, the kind that would claim lives, set in. _“See?”_

He swallowed hard as the chill passed. Was what he was about to suggest considered insulting? “... Yes. I think so. Do dragons use nicknames?” 

Bright sapphire eyes blinked again, _“‘Nick-names’? What are those?”_

“Well, my full title is Lord Stone of Rustboro and Mossdeep, Champion of King Wallace, Knight of the kingdom of Hoenn, but my friends call me Steven.” 

_“Ste-ven.”_ The dragon repeated. _“I do not have a nickname. How do I get one?”_

“Nicknames are typically given by friends based on traits or an action.” His hands would be getting pruney soon; he should get out. But the water felt so good, easing the scrapes and pains of his fall. 

The sparrows started chirping and whistling vigorously. The dragon cocked its head to listen. _“Oh. They call me Mayflower because I met them when the may flowers were blooming. Is that a nickname?”_

Steven rolled his shoulders, wincing at the dull ache. “Yes, actually. Mayflower. That is a very pretty nickname.”

The dragon wiggled with happiness, tail almost wagging back and forth. _“I am born of typhoons and thunderclouds, of the sea in storm and winter winds, but my friends call me Mayflower.”_

Mayflower the dragon. Steven had had odder companions before. “Alright then, Mayflower. Let me get my clothes on and we can get started finding your brother.” He glanced around the clearing. “Where are my clothes?”

_“They stunk. I buried them.”_

“I... see.” He waited a beat. “And my armour?” 

_“Stashed somewhere safe.”_ Mayflower stood, and again Steven was awed by how the sheer bulk of the dragon moved with such grace. _“This is a special place. It would be wrong to bring weapons and other articles of bloodshed here.”_

“Well. I am going to need more clothes and I can’t get them while I am naked.” 

_“That seems counterintuitive. Wouldn’t a person who is naked need clothes the most?”_

After a moment of stunned silence, Steven laughed. “You are probably right.” 

The dragon shook its head. _“I will go into a village or town and get you some.”_

Before he could warn that a giant dragon descending on the town wasn’t likely to get a warm welcome, Mayflower had taken off with a single beat of its wings.

~*~*~*~

He lingered in the waters, watching as the cuts and scrapes healed before his eyes. Lines were his skin had parted turned to scabs, and scabs to scars. Within a handful of hours the sharp jabs of pain had faded to the barest of aches. Better than any healing pond he had been in. 

The sparrows hung around, flirting between the trees, and alerted him to the rustle in the woods. Steven froze, keeping low. 

A young woman stepped into the clearing, a bundle held on her shoulder. She wore loose-fitting shirt and trousers tucked into tall leather boots, looking ready for travel on the many roads of Hoenn. A delicate face framed by short-chopped brown hair, with olive tanned skin. Magic bright sapphire eyes regarded the clearing, before heading towards him. “Steven?” 

He blinked at the familiarity. “Mayflower?”

The woman perked up, and smiled at him. “There you are! Got the clothes.” She dropped the bundle at the water’s edge. Hands on her hips. “It didn’t even cost that much.” 

He stared at the woman, trying to reconcile this form with the dragon he had met. “How are you… human?”

Mayflower grinned, pearly white teeth only the slightest bit pointy. “Magic. Duh. Running around like a dragon makes humans nervous. When humans get nervous, they get stupid.” She frowned, finger to her mouth, “But flying is way faster.” 

“I see.” Steven coughed, and made an attempt to hide his modesty behind a rock. It was one thing when a many tonne dragon was looking at him, entirely another when said dragon had the appearance of a young woman. A pretty one at that. 

Mayflower didn’t seem to notice- or maybe care about the indiscretion. She leaned over to face him, closer enough he could count the freckles on her nose, and see the swirl of magic in her eyes. “Come on- time’s slipping by. The stars only know where my brother got to and that volcano isn’t going to calm itself.” 

Oh lord, Steven mused as she turned and hopped off the rocks, her flock of sparrows landing on her even though she had significantly few perch spots, what had himself gotten into?

**Author's Note:**

> Come say 'hi' on[ Tumblr!](https://basicallyanidiot.tumblr.com/)


End file.
